hard work

I sent all the info the agent requested last week; it turned into something out of a Marx Brothers movie, with everything going wrong.
My partner's computer system went down in his office, so we couldn't print from that. I kept exhausting myself, going over the first 100 pages with a fine-toothed comb (I'm a horrible typist at best), and composing a chapter outline. Finally, we went out to the UPS station near the San Jose airport, to overnight it. It was so hard to let the package go--my manuscript sitting in a big plastic bin along with all the other mail. It's out of my hands now, and I did the very best I could.

I asked for a sign from my Nonni, the prinicipal character in the book, after I sent the material to the agent--basically, I asked if this agent was the right one for the book and if these people would offer me representation. Just after I asked for that, I passed by Mr. Goody's, an antique store in Santa Cruz. In the window was almost an entire set of Franciscan Ware Desert Rose, my mother's dish pattern, something I write about often in the book. I immediately ran in and, even though I couldn't really afford it, I bought a small platter, which figures largely in one of the chapters.

Feeling badly a few days later, I again asked Nonni for a sign, and the next day, there was a set of Franciscan Ware in the window behind the Desert Rose pattern--only this was Nonni's Apple pattern (I have a very few of Nonni's real dishes in this pattern). I love her so much--I do believe that our loved ones really do listen and help us from the world beyond this.

On a different note, we have been enduring a spate of robberies in our neighborhood, the last one just a few doors down from me. I've decided to back up my book on a floppy every day and also my "agent folder," with all my query stuff. I am hoping to help start a neighborhood watch, too.

Well, off to the Office to write, and to the garden to work. I've trained morning glories up some old, twisted branches, and when they went up the branches, the vines made these cool, Nightmare Before Christmas, strange shapes! Now they are covered with buds.
These small things make me happy.

Huh

It's been less than a month and the first agent I sent my book to (my top pick) sent me a really nice letter, praising the writing (they called it "very strong") and the premise of the book very strongly, and wanting the first 100 pages, plus a chapter outline. I am NOT READY. But is anyone ever ready? I did sit down and work on the all-important first chapter, which is not as good as I want it to be. Then I could not sleep last night, and today did motherly duties. So, tomorrow, after writing group and dance, I will be down in the office, working. I'll probably do nothing but work all weekend--I promised to send the material by Wednesday (again, the full moon--howwwwl). BUT--this evening, Mr. Strega and I went to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory; I badly needed to get out and have some fun--and it was! It's a great film!

Goodnight!

almost a headstand

Yesterday, the flies were conspicuously absent in yoga class, and I did nearly a headstand (against the wall, of course)--more like a shoulder stand. I did have to use the wall for support, but MAN--talk about an accomplishment! I could never turn cartwheels or stand on my head as a kid--I was very awkward and geeky. I'm still awkward and geeky, but I push through it. My hip doesn't hurt, either.

So, downstairs to the book, hopefully, with some coffee and my headphones.

Yoga and Flies

I started a beginner yoga class on Tuesday nights; it's held in a church space out in the Santa Cruz countryside, and is a wonderful space to learn yoga in--except that it's got a million flies in it. They crawl all over me while I'm doing the poses! I mean, on my lips and eyes and everything--our yoga teacher told us to just ignore them, but it's hard to ignore little crawly fly feet, especially since there's a horse stable next door and I have a feeling that I know where those little fly feet have been. STILL--I loved the class and my chronic hip pain seems to be going away. The teacher told me I was actually ready for the Level 2 class (I do yoga every week within my dance classes and a little bit at home), so I may try it next week.

My reactive depression about graduating and having really no job, no agent, etc., is starting to subside a little. I've made a determination to go back into therapy, though,as I feel the depression could worsen. The therapist I'd been seeing for years moved away in October and I am having trouble finding a replacement. I am a "friend of Lois," and that really helps with the isolation, but I like having another adult to talk to (besides Mr. Strega). Still, it's hard to make that initial phone contact.

As for the book (yes, this blog is supposed to be about my book), I just got accepted to read portions of it and discuss it at the Italian-American Historical Association's conference at UCLA in November! That's good--the more exposure, the better. I need to get downstairs and do some work on it--I have my writing group tonight and need to bring some portion of the book there tonight.

Deep Impact

Well, Mr. Strega and I went out to try and see Deep Impact happening--but the ubiquitous Santa Cruz fog rolled in, even though Jupiter and Spica (one of the main stars in the Virgo constellation) were clearly visible. We went home and tried to see if it was on the news, and there was NOTHING about it on the telly.
We had nothing to turn to but the Internet, and there we saw the amazing photo of the impact, though the comet itself looks a bit like
a potato. But then, I suppose most comets look like potatoes. I'm an amateur astronomer, among other things, and really love to go out and look at the night sky. I haven't been doing much of this lately, and decided last night I would get back to doing things like that again. I seem to really be needing a time of recovery from grad school. As I've said before, there was much good I got out of it, and a large helping of destructiveness and marginalization--and I truly don't think the marginalization was self-perceived; there was definite favoritism going on among certain faculty members--sometimes, I truly believe, inadvertently. I tried not to take it personally, but some part of me obviously did, or I wouldn't need some recovery and down time from having been in grad school for four years.

An announcement: after two years of "poetry celibacy," I have begun to write a poem again--just a little thing. I can't blame everything on my poetry professor, who came in drunk to class all the time until the students complained about the amount of alcohol being consumed in class. Sometimes poetry is just like that--it's somewhat of a teasing muse. I find that writing in a journal as abundantly as I can and never forcing the poems really does help--plus, my personal life in the last two years has been difficult and that alone can contribute to the poetry going quiet. I'm glad I've had this big, raggedy book to be working on.

News from the strega's garden: the Mr. Lincoln roses Mr. Strega and I planted in the fall have bloomed with giant, fat, smoky, purple-red blooms that look like old velvet, and they have a lemony/sweet, overpoweringly old rose scent. We got this rose at Costco!
How come all the roses I get at places like Costco and Rite-Aid live forever, and the expensive Jackson & Perkins ones are like the prima donnas of the garden, getting all kinds of fainting illnesses and megrims?